She Is The Sunlight
by OhApple
Summary: This is a post-Knockout one-shot. Castle is alone in his bed, worrying about Beckett, and thinking of all the things she has changed in his life since the very beginning.


**SHE IS THE SUNLIGHT**

"_She is the healing and I am the pain"  
>"She is tomorrow, and I am today"<br>"She is the sunlight, and the sun is gone"_

Life changes in a heartbeat. One moment, one second. One shot, one bullet, and everything can change.

Richard Castle couldn't fall asleep that night. And he hadn't been the night before either, for he was at the hospital, walking in the hallway, waiting in front of her door, calling a nurse every five minutes to make sure everything was "okay".

Katherine Beckett had been shot two days before, and she had been operated on but she hadn't recovered yet, and even if the doctors had said she would be fine, he was way too worried to be able to close his eyes.

So there he was, lying down in his bed, staring at the ceiling, holding his phone in his right hand - just in case someone would call – and he began to think of everything Kate Beckett had brought to his life.

He had met her three years before. That was awful to say but if Harrison Tisdale hadn't killed his sister, he would have never met Kate Beckett. He mentally thanked fate for this, because… what would his life look like now if she weren't there ?

Yes, he would still be a famous and bestselling author. He would spend his evenings at parties, signing autographs on unknown women's chests. He realized how void his previous life was, and wondered how he hadn't got tired of it before. Because, what he had at that moment was so much better. He was still writing, that was the only thing that hadn't changed about him. It would never change, because writing was what made him feel alive, what comforted him when he felt bad, what soothed him when he had problems. Words were his best friends, the only thing he thought he was good at.

But Kate had changed him. She had turned him into another man, a better one. She had given him new goals. When he got up every morning, the first thing he used to think of was "I have to write, I have to write, I have to write".

Thanks to her, his first thoughts – after being woken up early by his phone – were "Today, I'm going to help the police and catch a murderer, and then, I'll turn everything into a story". His 22 first novels had all been based on fiction, on his imagination. Since he had met her, his novels were all based on facts, on reality.

She inspired him. She made him feel useful. She gave him a new breath.

He liked everything about her. The smell of her long hair when she bent next to him, her tall figure when she walked – and ran – on her much too high heeled shoes, chasing badass killers in the crowded streets of New York City. He loved the way she talked, he loved when she was trying not to laugh at his jokes, he loved her determination, her perseverance, her bravery.

He'd always been amazed by her personality. She was nothing like the other women of her age, she was different. She was better. Katherine Beckett was probably – even certainly – the strongest person he had ever happened to meet.

Her life had been full of obstacles but she overcame everything, and every single step over the difficulties in her life made her stronger. She was the kind of woman who never gave up, on anything, because she was willing to reach her goals, no matter how much time she needed.

Her most important goal – finding the person responsible for her mother's murder – had almost killed her. But nothing and no one could prevent her from achieving her plans.

He was still lost in his thoughts when he surprised himself crying. How dumb he had been, to wait so long to confess he loved her. Of course she knew it, she felt it, and she probably felt the same. But these three little words he had said when she fell on the grass after taking a bullet were the proof of their shared love - what they had told each other so many times before with their eyes. He was so mad at himself that it became unbearable. And what if she had already forgotten?

So, even if it was 3 A.M, he left his apartment and went right to the hospital with the clear intention of telling her everything he had been thinking about on his own. He didn't want to wait for another drama to let her know how he felt.

And, when he arrived in front of her room – number 482, he knew it by heart - he remembered what his mother had told him:  
><em>"Don't waste another minute of it".<em>

He put his hand on the doorknob and entered the room quietly, knowing exactly what he was going to say.


End file.
